Approximately 1.8 billion people, including children and infants, live without indoor plumbing, and the water source that they may have is often as much as a mile away.

I'm not getting up on a soap box; but this fact is important when you are trying to explain to your 12- and 13-year-old kids that our pipes breaking and being without a commode or bath for two days is a minor setback in the grand scheme of things.

Our plumbing broke, and there was no male counterpart to even pretend that he might be able to fix it. It was my problem. I called the plumber, but it was Sunday. He came Monday afternoon. We went to my brother's home to bathe, but as far as that other necessity, well, let's just say we improvised. 

No man. Well, there are many, many things I can think of that are much, much worse, in the grand scheme of things. And, on those rare occasions when I find that I actually have time to share with someone, over the age of 30, I'm so exhausted that it's a fleeting thought at best.

No man to fix my plumbing in my house, in my soul, in my body. And, that's alright. It may turn out to be alright for, well, forever. If men are only useful for plumbing and auto mechanics and, if you're lucky, garbage detail, but are not going to soothe your forehead when you are sick or rub your feet when you are tired or make dinner or run a bubble bath or buy some flowers, then to hell with it. 

So, I'm alone, like so many of my fellow FWW'ers. And, it's okay. Sometimes it's wonderful. Sometimes it's incredible. Yes, I wish I had a full time partner to share my life with, but I don't. However, what I do have is indoor plumbing, so I'm headed to the shower to bask in hot, running water, soap, steam, and my life, which, for the most part, is a very good life. 

Serious winter calls for serious sunshine. I just pulled mine out of the closet. I bought my Verilux HappyLite a couple years ago. People laughed and laughed until they tried it and got happy, too.

This year especially, nothing could be cheaper than taking a vacation in your living room. Talk about punting during a recession.

Years ago I interviewed Nicholas Harmon, the CEO of Verilux, the happy lighting company, to understand how his lights were different. They are. It's called full spectrum lighting and there is such a thing as light therapy. This version of course, will have you talking to yourself unless you invite company.

These Verilux lights simulate daylight and the effect that a nice bright sunny day outside has on your brain. Plants grow better, kids do better on homework and if you suffer from SAD, seasonal affective disorder (lack of sunshine), a half hour a day exposed to this kind of light helps offset depression. Unfortunately you don't get tan...just happy. Ok then, sunshine you can afford. Check out Verilux Light Therapy Products and Full Spectrum Lighting.

p.s. If I sounded happier than usual it's because I am writing this with my HappyLite on.

Attitude is everything!
Best,
Debbie

For as many years as I can remember New Year's Eve has been an evening of excitement, good times, laughter, and anticipation for me. Ranging from small to large get-togethers with good friends to standing in Times Square, shivering and waiting for the ball to drop, it's always been a joy. I can remember that feeling of newness and starting fresh surging through me for weeks after New Year's Day.

This year however, was different. In all honesty, it just kind of snuck up on me. And, with Adrian's birthday, the anticipation and stress of Christmas, and the subsequent sigh of relief after it was all over, it's no wonder New Years wasn't doing much for me this year.

I had to work on New Year's Day, so going out the night before wasn't the most realistic of options anyway, but as it turns out, even if I had wanted to go out, babysitters charge a fortune on New Year's Eve.  It just wasn't worth it to me.

My best friend is also a single mom. "What are you doing New Year's Eve?" she asked me. "Nothing." I replied.

She wasn't doing anything either, so she invited us to her house for dinner and suggested that we could watch the ball drop on TV that night.

So, that's what we did. It was a windy, freezing cold night in New York on New Year's Eve. We went over to Rachel's house and had a fabulous dinner. Adrian played for a few hours and was the first to conk out around nine. Then Rachel and I then climbed into her comfy bed and popped in a Desperate Housewives DVD (I'm getting all of my friends hooked on that show) with plans to turn off the DVD and switch to the Times Square coverage a few minutes before midnight. We were both asleep before the first episode was over.

I slept, for a solid eleven hours for the first time since Adrian has been born. I awoke feeling rested in a way that I never thought I could feel again. A new, rested, ready-to-go me in time for the New Year.

Happy New Year! Time for new resolutions. I decided to try Zumba.

You may have seen the new infomercials of the gyrating hips hopping their way to weight loss. Me too. My local gym added the class this week so I went. How hard can gyrating be?

Ask my stiff neck.

The music is fun, and the steps are easy to catch on to, But keeping up the pace? Let's just say the moves reminded me of some I may have attempted after a few cosmos late at night in some club once upon a time. (Okay — last week.)

Zumba without strobe lights and liquor? Whew! Tough sweaty stuff. Made me have new respect for those Dancing with the Stars people. Me, I was dancing seeing stars, utilizing muscles that apparently went into early retirement. In the mirror behind the instructor I watched myself do hip gyrations that would make my mother blush and my daughter leave town.

Zumba, my dear girlfriends, is the perfect workout for those of you just heading back into the dating game. Just be prepared for moves you haven't used in a while and get some Ben Gay. That's all I have  to say.

Attitude is everything!
Debbie

Leave me a comment or email me anytime at dnigro@firstwivesworld.com

The most honest holiday card I received this year started out with a bit of Christmas blasphemy: "Bah Humbug" it read, followed by a litany of recent woes:

"I went Christmas shopping today and a woman backed out of her parking space and whacked my car...Billy broke his ankle skateboarding. It required an operation and two screws. That's the good news. The bad news is that he's still skateboarding...Cal lost his job last March...We lost half our life savings in the stock market. Now when people ask my kids, 'How's your mom? They reply, 'She's never going to be able to retire.'"

A pretty bleak picture indeed.

But my friend goes on to say that her car is still drivable, Billy likes looking at the X-rays of the screws in his bone, Cal found a job in October, and her older son was transferring to an in-state college ("He always kind of wanted to go to UGA anyway"). And as for retirement, she is really quite thankful to have a job.

"Looking back on the year, it was a pretty good one after all," she writes, reminiscing about her son's high school graduation party, a visit to Nova Scotia with her cousin, a trip to Mexico with her college buddy (that would be me!).

"And I just finished decorating my tree. It's beautiful. Wishing you a wonderful Christmas, and health and happiness in the New Year."

I couldn't have said it better myself.

It was while wrapping Christmas presents that I thought of him. The memories tend to sneak up on me like that now; something unexpected will trigger this explosion in me and they come flooding back in.

I thought of our last Christmas together. The one where Adrian was just twelve days old. That one, where I was still white knuckled, sick to my stomach, clinging to the hope that he wouldn't do exactly what he's done: leave us. I did everything for him, his way, hoping that he would stay. Right down to circumcising my son (which I didn't want to do) and giving Adrian his last name (which I've come to regret more than you can know). I understand now that desperation will do these things to you; make you give parts of yourself that you otherwise would never consider.

I thought of that day, how stressed out my body was from just giving birth and the lack of sleep that ensued, but how in comparison that was nothing on how stressed out my mind was. 

I remembered how I tried to push everything away and fight the reality of the situation. How I tried to make myself believe that everything would be okay despite how wrong everything felt. Despite how it felt like my whole universe had come undone.

"That was two years ago," I said aloud to myself.

Wow, two whole years and sometimes it can still hurt like it was yesterday.

But the pain is different now. I'm no longer that tortured woman. Now I wish I could go back and shake that lady that was once me. "What are you thinking?" I'd say to her. "Can't you see this is all about him? Where the hell did you put your self respect? Why are you compromising yourself for someone who obviously doesn't love you?"

That's what two years gives you — a lot of perspective and enough time for a fresh start.

"Going to a junkyard is a sobering experience. There you can see the ultimate destination of almost everything we desired." —Roger Von Oech, A Wack On The Side of the Head

I read this the other day and have since been trying to keep it in mind as Christmas creeps closer and closer and my bank account gets lower and lower. It seems that once you have a child there is so much pressure on you as a parent to perform in many areas, and acquiring "stuff" is a big one.

It was at the mall last night, where I was desperately searching for "stuff" to buy for Adrian, that this quote helped me the most.

Looking at rocket ships, dinosaurs, train sets — all overpriced — and parents stumbling over one another to have them; I thought about all of the toys that Adrian has had since he's been born. Then I thought about where they all ended up: either broken and in the garbage or outdated and donated.

We don't have tons of money, at all. Levi is still not contributing and as Adrian's birthday is so close to Christmas I'm still stuck playing a little bit of catch up from that.

As much as I'd like to, I simply can't afford to have a dozen presents under the tree and besides which, are these monetary, materialistic values the type that I'd like to instill in my son, anyhow? The answer is no.

It took a bit of reasoning with myself but I'm feeling okay with it now. Adrian is getting four presents from me (well, two Santa gets the credit for) and we will spend the rest of the day basking in each other's company — and maybe playing in the snow.

Christmas will be about more than gifts. It will also be about appreciating each other and strengthening the bond of our family.

I wish you all a very happy holiday.

Faith

I wonder if men would change their behavior if they could be a woman for just one day.

This thought occurred to me as I was walking in downtown New York this morning.

Still in my pajamas, donning a big, billowy winter coat and hat with a cup of coffee in my hand waiting for the walk sign, a man stops his car at the light, rolls down the window and shouts, "Yeah, baby" and "I'd like to get a piece of that."

His hollering then provokes the other cat callers in the neighborhood, and trust me, there are enough of them.

Yuck.

All I feel is gross and embarrassed as I try to quickly scurry up the block.

And how else should anyone feel?

Do these people actually expect me to feel flattered? Does that man think that just maybe I'll approach his car window and give him my phone number — or even the time of day?

What's even more shocking is that this kind of behavior is everywhere. It's in the cities, the country, it's even in other countries. The fact that it's so prevalent leads me to believe one of two things: One, that someway, somehow this kind of behavior gets desirable results. Meaning that this kind of talk works on some women. Or, two, these people are just stupid — or worse. I don't know.

All I do know for sure is that now that I'm single, men not only look at me differently, they treat me differently. If I had been walking down the street with Levi this morning, nobody would have dared to say anything. (I wish I could say the same if I were walking with my two year old son, but unfortunately, a child doesn't deter them.)

I guess I had forgotten what it's like to be a single girl out there.

I'm not sure I like it.